Our Debt
by XxFrostbitten ReaperxX
Summary: Razorwing was a sparkling when her life turned disastrous. All she knew was that ever since the war broke out, numbers appeared over everyone's helms. She ignores it for the sake of her Creators sudden worriment until one day, they don't come home and she is taken, tortured and interrogated by the Decepticons. Not knowing why or how caused her harm, but finding out was even worse.
1. Prolouge

**Title:  
** Our Debt

 **Chapter:  
** Prologue

 **Pairing:  
** Starscream x OC

 **Story Summary:  
** Razorwing was a sparkling when her life took a turn towards disaster. She didn't know what was wrong with her. All she knew was that ever since the war broke out, she has seen these strange numbers over everyone's helms. Thinking nothing of it, she ignores them to keep her creators from worrying. Until, that is, they don't come home and she is captured by the enemy faction. It is there she is tortured and interrogated for what she is able to see. Not knowing caused her harm, but when she figures out the purpose behind the numbers she wants it gone. For the faster they drop, the quicker the numbered bot drops dead.

* * *

 **Notes:  
** Cybertronians count their age in vorns and years in decivorns. This " _::_::_ " symbolizes communication link conversations. And these are for your reference in approximate numbers:

 **Astroklik** – .498 earth seconds - _Cybertronian Second  
_ **Nanoklik** – 1 earth second  
 **Klik** – 1 earth minutes  
 **Breem** – 8.3 earth minutes (8 min, 20 secs) - _Cybertronian Minute  
_ **Groon** – 1 earth hour  
 **Orn** – 1 earth day - _Cybertronian Hour  
_ **Joor** – 93 earth hours (3 days, 21 hrs)  
 **Cycle** – 1 earth week - _Cybertronian Day  
_ **Quartex** – 1.4 earth months (1 month, 1 week) - _Cybertronian Week  
_ **Diun** – 5.6 earth months (5 months, 2 weeks) - _Cybertronian Month  
_ **Quintun** – 1 earth year  
 **Decivorn** – 8.3 earth years (8 years, 4 months) - _Cybertronian Year  
_ **Vorn** – 83 years  
 **Decavorn** – 830 years

 **Rintek** – Cybertronian Millimeter  
 **Duntek** – 10 rinteks – Cybertronian Centimeter  
 **Espe** – 2.5 dunteks – Cybertronian Inch  
 **Hister** – 12 espes – Cybertronian Foot  
 **Arn** – 3 histers – Cybertronian Yard  
 **Tek** – 1.1 arns – 1 Cybertronian Meter  
 **Vun** – 100 teks – 1 Cybertronian Hectometer  
 **Hic** – 10 vuns – 1 Cybertronian Kilometer  
 **Cerse** – 1609 teks/1760 arns/1.6 hics – 1 Cybertronian Mile

 **Autobots** \- Red (Territory - Blue)  
 **Decepticons** \- Purple (Territory - Red)  
 **Neutrals** \- White (Territory - Unknown)  
 **Unknowns** \- Green (Territory - Unknown)

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:  
**_ _ **Everything I own belongs to me. Everything I don't own belongs to Hasbro and their respected owners.**_

* * *

 **xX-Xx**

It was in the far reaches of space, past unfamiliar galaxies, and beyond billions of stars. Two moons orbited a planet of metal, reflecting the faint light from a blue sun millions of miles away. Smoke rose from the deep crevasses in its surface, shining a dull yellow-orange in color of fire and graying the sky into a dreary black.

Battle was not a foreign phenomenon on the planet Cybertron. Since it first came about, it has gone through two past wars and several battles, branching the natives apart and hardening their resolve to fix it. So when talk of another war spruced up due to caste restrictions, initiatives were taken into consideration and investigation to find a way to prevent it from coming to light.

It was too late.

At first, it started with menial attacks on important figures that made change possible, which grew to gangs sabotaging stocks and shipments to gain attention, to full on lethal terrorist violence against anything that helped the higher caste against poor equality. They stopped briefly when a new Prime and Protectorate was brought forth, over a whole five thousand decivorn peace ensuing. The caste system was dropped. Equality reigned forth. But then came the shortage of energon. They picked right back up ten-fold, creating the Great Civil War between what is now the Autobots and Decepticons. And although their lives were long lived, so did the war continue to drag on and on without prevention, without end... and without mercy.

Mass numbers of metallic sentient beings fell to the hands of death countless times by either side. Whether they represented the side of freedom or of tyranny, it did not matter. But numbers were numbers and the more that was subtracted, the more the other side gained ground. It was the logical sense when in the fight, to conserve and be strategically ready for anything. But even those plans can fail.

Iacon, the dome capital of Cybertron, stood as the last and largest Autobot sanctuary against the Decepticons in the northern hemisphere, who ruled most of the planet from Kaon and Praxus with their numbers far greater than their enemies could possibly believe. And within this sanctuary was the AllSpark, kept from their deceptive hands, constantly guarded and watched by the surviving High Sentinels. This is where wards of different kinds were left inhabited by the few hundreds of warriors and civilians turned soldiers. It was where battle strategies took place, where secrets lay hidden from unwanted optics, and where Autobots at rest can refuel and recharge in some semblance of peace under the care and command of their Prime of Cybertron; their Leader of the Autobots.

Planet Hierarch Optimus Prime was once merely a dock worker and data clerk of the Iacon shipyard under the name of Orion Pax, supervised under the optic of A3, an old mech who cared for the planet's Hall of Records. When the beginning riots from a group of premature Decepticons hit the docks, and he was mortally wounded, A3 took the liberty to rebuild him a new form, having seen what his beliefs are regarding the lower class of Cybertronians and seeing a great future for him. Orion Pax thus later carried the power and essence that was the Matrix, whose previous owner stepped down as Prime decivorns later.

He ruled Cybertron for many, many vorns in the time of peace, settling most of the riots with a firm, equal hand and used the constant guidance or assistance from his friends, comrades, and old mentors to rid of the caste system, allowing bots to freely seek out their profession. But none held the rhythm steady alongside him better than his bond brother, Megatronus.

Lord High Protector Megatronus (as was his given name before the war) wasn't always as malevolent as the current days depicted him to be. In the time of peace, he was a justice seeking mech looking for ways to better the lower class civilization to hold a likened standing with everyone else. He did this by going against the initial caste, his 'profession' of gladiator, making his voice heard. Although many saw his acts a bit too unkind, a mech created and raised as a gladiator in the pits of Kaon could not help himself in the ways of discipline he was taught. Though it did help in the bitter end. Many were stunned when he was called forth by the Matrix to share a brother-bond, and even more so when they began to see how his actions changed their planet for the better.

But it wasn't meant to last.

After an invasion by the race called the Quintessons, the findings of a strange artifact from an energon dig site, and the critical injuries from the battles Megatron sustained guarding it did he use that trust to betray them all.

Optimus held great pride with his brethren in arms, seeing them as equals and giving them all fair share duties to accomplish. His trust to them was to be rivaled with his ever growing wisdom and patience gained by the past Primes. Megatron, however, trusted only a select few, favoring them like prizes and leaving the rest to deal with the pettier situational work. He was not stupid to put them out of their element though and gained ground in the war by being the deceptive predator that he was.

It was this that made him a formidable, and wanted for dead, high end betrayer.

No one for sure knew why Megatron had turned his back on the trusted, against justice and all that he built and prided upon. After decivorns of battle and death though, Cybertronian's around the world dubbed him a mech unable to be saved from himself.

He nearly killed Optimus for the Matrix, wanting it for its link to Primus and the Prime's. He nearly died himself when he went after the AllSpark, needing it for its energy, power, and ability to create life. Both losses aggravated him; he needed his numbers high, his power maxed. Three vorns into the war he began taking hostages in hopes to bring the Autobots to their sympathetic knees. But instead, he found something much more interesting. Information on an artifact said to predict death itself.

A trying hunt for the Sentinels - a process that took decivorns of his time - gave him exactly what he wanted. Seven of them escaped. One of them killed himself before being tortured. But another and a cohort they managed to grab. Neither of them survived the information transfer, and Megatron made his move.

The hunt for a sparkling began.

In the Gold Age, many Cybertronians used the prosperous time as a means to responsibly elevate their numbers, never intending to see their world torn apart again. When populations reached sufficiency, new sparks had to be applied for from the High Council, and only to Creator units that can prove their support and care of the sparkling. So when their kin, few and diverse as they were, from sparkling to youngling, started to disappear or die, both sides gave in to pure rage and violence, protection of their future descendents, their children, more important than themselves. Cybertronian femmes, Autobot or Decepticon, purposed as sole Guardians to their species young from the beginning of their history, died in greater numbers than mechs fighting to protect them.

Then, suddenly, at the turn of the middle vorn, everything stopped.

Nearly seventy percent of Cybertron was taken within the span of those five hundred eighty-one decivorns since the Quintesson attack, ruled by Decepticon controlled cities. They called it the Age of Internment.

Slowly, few by few, the sparklings disappeared along with their Guardians.

Hope was lost. Lives were opted out. Battle still waged. The war continued.

And the AllSpark was moved deep underground, never to bear another spark again. And thus, their species was doomed to die.


	2. In the Rubble

**Title:  
** Our Debt

 **Chapter:  
** In the Rubble

 **Pairing:  
** Starscream x OC

 **Story Summary:  
** Razorwing was a sparkling when her life took a disastrous turn. She didn't know what was wrong with her. All she knew was that ever since the war broke out, she has seen these strange numbers over everyone's helms. Thinking nothing of it, she ignores for the sake of her Creators sudden worriment. Until, one day, they don't come home and she is captured by the enemy faction. It is there she is tortured and interrogated for what she is able to see. Not knowing why or how caused her harm, but when she figures out the purpose behind the numbers she wants it gone. For the faster they drop, the quicker the numbered bot drops dead.

* * *

 **Notes:  
** Cybertronians count their age in vorns and years in decivorns. This " _::_::_ " symbolizes communication link conversations. And these are for your reference in approximate numbers:

 **Astrosecond** – .498 earth seconds - _Cybertronian Second  
_ **Nanoklik** – 1 earth seconds  
 **Klik** – 1 earth minutes  
 **Breem** – 8.3 earth minutes (8 min, 20 secs) - _Cybertronian Minute  
_ **Groon** – 1 earth hour  
 **Orn** – 1 earth day - _Cybertronian Hour  
_ **Joor** – 93 earth hours (3 days, 21 hours)  
 **Cycle** – 1 earth week - _Cybertronian Day  
_ **Quartex** – 1.4 earth months (1 month, 1 weeks) - _Cybertronian Week  
_ **Diun** – 5.6 earth months (5 months, 2 weeks) - _Cybertronian Month  
_ **Quintun** – 1 earth year  
 **Decivorn** – 8.3 earth years (8 years, 4 months) - _Cybertronian Year  
_ **Vorn** – 83 years  
 **Decavorn** – 830 years

 **Rintek** – Cybertronian Millimeter  
 **Duntek** – 10 rinteks – Cybertronian Centimeter  
 **Espe** – 2.5 dunteks – Cybertronian Inch  
 **Hister** – 12 espes – Cybertronian Foot  
 **Arn** – 3 histers – Cybertronian Yard  
 **Tek** – 1.1 arns – 1 Cybertronian Meter  
 **Vun** – 100 teks – 1 Cybertronian Hectometer  
 **Hic** – 10 vuns – 1 Cybertronian Kilometer  
 **Cerse** – 1.6 hics – 1 Cybertronian Mile

 **Autobots** \- Red (Territory - Blue)  
 **Decepticons** \- Purple (Territory - Red)  
 **Neutrals** \- White (Territory - Unknown)  
 **Unknowns** \- Green (Territory - Unknown)

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:  
**_ _ **Everything I own belongs to me. Everything I don't own belongs to Hasbro and their respected owners.**_

 _ **xX-Xx**_

 _::Area eight-five-four is clean. Nothing to report.::_

 _::Area five-four-two is void too. Nothing here.::_

 _::Got a couple glitchmice, nasty things, but five-nine-nine is spotless.::_

Optimus Prime stood attentive on the spot, his optics shuttering as he looked around the torn area that was his sector to explore, weapon in hand, ready to move if needed. Their territory needed protecting, a constant patrol around the borders of Iacon, a typical team of two or six in a group depending on their ranking and the enemy influence stationed nearby. Their radius of influence had grown tenfold around Iacon because of this since, and still steadily growing.

For a time, the Autobots had grown less weary than normal, thinking their hold on the capital couldn't be breached so easily with so many of their numbers there. They had been right, of course, but it didn't stop the Decepticons from taking out their scouting parties or border patrol once in a while.

 _::Area four-seven-seven is clear. Nothing to report.::_

A diun ago, however, some mechs were lost to a very sudden and vicious attack on their turf. It lasted a full cycle before the Decepticons retreated with hissing scorn. Guards were doubled, sentries tripled, and scouts going out every three cycles. It wasn't the first sort of attack they've encountered, and certainly not the last, but it was the oddest they've had and most violent by far.

The last few mechs out on the rotational search and sentry sent him their ornly reports, covering areas in each corner of their boundaries as much as possible.

 _::Seven-three-eight is all clear. Nothing but the occasional cyberdog.::_

 _::Hound here. Area zero-nine-one... found a body...::_

Chatter bursts through the flow of communications directed to the reporting station. Inquiries on who the body was, are they dead, was it Autobot or Decepticon, how long has it been there and so forth, all kinds of emotion running rampant no matter how trained the soldier. A dead body was never good news. Whomever was on station today was definitely going to need a day off with the clutter he must be getting.

With a cycle of air through his slightly overheated vents, a hidden weariness in his voice but dared not let it show, Optimus replied through the comm link once he hushed the prattle, tabbing off the said area in his display as _'inspect'_ and highlighting it orange for all to see. _::All right. I want three tracer guards on the border once you're done. Span them out a cerse each before you head out. I_ do not _want Decepticons thinking that is a weak spot.::_ It was the very area where the attacks started. He did _not_ want it happening again.

Prowl was quick to reply. _::Consider it done… I'm sending Cliffjumper and Gears to check the last area, it will take about an orn or two to search it and set up. I will let you know when we're done here.::_

 _::I'll be waiting for your reply.::_ A second crackle from his comm came directly after just as he started walking again.

 _::Optimus, I can hear ya startin' to stress again.::_ The soft tenor of his First Lieutenant reached his audio's with a voice of reason. _::Ya need to settle yer gears. We got the borders heavily guarded as it is. The 'Cons won't start another strike for a while, and this is fact_ _.::_ Optimus stopped in front of a building that had been blown to the ground, looking around and scanning the sector to find nothing. _::_ _Ya really need t' relax before we send ya to Ratchet... again_ _. And ya know how he can get.::_

 _::S_ _l_ _agging right you know how I'll get,::_ came the grumpy reply. Jazz chuckled.

Optimus continued as if he didn't hear the medic, a hint of play in his tone. : _:And I don't think Ratchet will be too fond of patching me up after the last encounter out here-::_

 _::Welding back arms at the shoulders aren't easy!::_

 _::-but that is not why I am worried. I appreciate the thought of concern otherwise, Jazz.::_ He put a hand to the broken building. _::Keep me updated on your status. I expect you and Swerve to be done around the time everyone else is... And I'll try not to lose an arm this time.::_ Ratchet grumbled.

Jazz took a long pause and answered sullenly. _::Sure thing, boss bot. But I mean it about those gears.::_

He cut the link, and shook his head. All of his officers had the right to worry about him lately. His appearance had dwindled since the time of the attack, barely anyone seeing him or able to come into contact. And when suddenly wanting to go on patrol, most knew that he was doing it to clear the sectors himself, or to clear the anger he no doubt held after having lost so many mechs. To him, it was both. Optimus might call it cruel to wish for a Decepticon to appear just to tear him apart limb from limb. It would be no different than from what they did to them. But at the same time, it was uncalled for.

And it got him wondering like so many times before.

Vorns and vorns went by with no indication that his bond-brother was insane. He never picked up a hint of jealousy until that moment of recovery from the xeno-war battles seven vorns ago. From an enthusiast mech who believed in and fought for equal rights between the high and low castes, to a tyrant ready to kill whomever got in his way for his 'right to rule'. He just didn't get it. Sometimes he refused to even try to get it anymore. After witnessing so many survivors clinging to life, all of them with lost limbs or half-clocked processors, he didn't want to think that that was by the hand of one of the greatest Protectorates a Prime has seen to date, no matter how shattering that reality was.

The Megatronus he once knew was no more.

Optimus had wandered into a different part of his area, closer to the previous border, listening to the others report in, giving orders to those who finished their locales, and scanning places as he went. He eventually came to a stop in front of a structure twice as tall as him and very wide around. He recognized it immediately.

Every free chance he had, he made several visits to this specific Nursery Youth Sector, a place where a newborn spark to an adolescent youngling can stay in the absence of their creators to the care of Guardians, run by a program past Primes have initiated and updated. It acted as a care facility, a shelter, or a place for those without a home, hence the three buildings in a single courtyard. In it, they all learned the basics of knowledge; writing, reading, speech, studies, home and work etiquette, history, and many more things. In most cases, it was encouraged for creators to leave their young ones there from time to time as it was one of many great ways for them to be accepted into Academies early on and, more importantly, socialize. Everything about Cybertronian culture revolves around communication by direct verbal exchanges, personal communication links, or contact. Without a way to continuously express themselves, if one were to be withheld from communicating, it would drive them mad. Youth Sector's were a beginning step towards something much greater and rewarding when times were gentler.

The place now lay in ruin, the first building with three walls of the bottom floor and one from the second the only parts still standing, while the other two lay in rubble, everything else taking up the entire radius of the grounds in tangled heaps of metal with small crystal lights still managing to survive in some spots on the floor, keeping some areas illuminated. In his memory, he remembered loads of little sparklings and younglings playing around with each other, happy and innocent, caring and kind. He remembered on his visits, all the sparklings gathering at his pedes, jumping, chirping, laughing, and yelling for his attention to pick them up as he made his way inside. The younglings would greet him with shy hello's, polite bows, or gentle clasps of the arm if they were tall enough. The Guardians, models of femme make and some mech, would bow politely and smile, gathering him inside with eager hands to show him around.

He remembered checking every building of every floor, sitting down to talk to those who have always wanted to meet him, playing briefly with the sparklings who risked getting in trouble to follow him before they were caught, and talking to the Guardians to make sure things were running okay. His visits were never coincidental. Given a choice, he could choose to never visit without it affecting the cause. But he loved to be around his people and their children, the ones he helped bring from the AllSpark, he enjoyed giving advice and wisdom to others in need as he himself grew into his new role. The perfect place to do that was in the Nursery, or any other Youth Sector in other cities that he would visit as well. He made it his job to visit them all when he could, never if.

Unfortunately, this was not the first Youth Sector he's encountered since the start of the war. Not very many were built within city walls due to the extensive amount of civilians and workers walking the streets. It was no place for a newborn. And since their communications array was being blocked by Decepticon interference, there was no way for him to check in with other areas to see if any were obtained and secured. All communications had to be personally delivered, and at a great risk, one which Optimus was none too thrilled about. Every city within their reach, however, had been wiped clean.

He could never again continue what he did before.

An internal beep roused him from his thoughts, bringing up the warning block that has been nudging his processor for a few cycles now. He took in briefly that both his energon and energy levels were reaching near critical levels, deprivation of recharge and sustenance for the past diun catching up with him.

Ignoring the annoying icon, he instead brought up the map of Iacon and its growing territories. Seventeen blips of Autobot red bordered the edge, their unchecked areas within it blinking yellow, some in groups of three or four, most in two - he had gone alone. As a Prime, he carried a mass amount of high tech weaponry and held multiple skill sets that would protect and defend him for however long as necessary.

The province was marked in blue - oblong in shape - spanning a good fifty-one cerse radius around the twelve thousand cerse radius city. Close to its borders were three huge spots of red where the Decepticons took up a post. The biggest so far being near where Hound was located. Other spots were barren gray, where anything can be hiding.

Optimus found his area to nearly be done and he cycled air to cool his overworked systems before closing the map and trudging on. Soon he would have to switch patrols out once their treks were done, for even Decepticons - notably their fliers - would dare cross their territory line for their own patrol or attack. Especially since last time.

He walked not twenty histers before his optics caught a falling plate of metal from a scrap heap to his left. He immediately brought his rifle up, finger on the trigger by reflex, turning fluidly to face it defensively, armor fluffed and battle ready. He searched the pile and area in all shades of vision but found nothing alive or moving. So he stayed still, alert.

He saw it on his radar before he saw it in person. A green blip moved away from him for a while until it reached a spot that was bare. He saw a flash of running blue go by only for it to disappear just as fast.

With narrowed optics, he reached behind him to fold the rifle back into its holster on his shoulder, out of sight. He moved after it, following the now registered green blip of an unknown with quiet steps. Brief glimpses here and there told him enough that it was no cyberture*, but possibly a microbot and this made him pick up the pace. Never before have they found a microbot aside from the thirteen already in their care, the models functioning more so as data keepers, making them one of the first models to be exterminated by the Decepticons. Most of them, however, were built for heavy duty labor, able to fit into smaller spaces when the need arises, so had a chance at survival if they kept in groups.

He opened a link. _::This is Optimus. I have a green unknown in sector nine-three-seven. Possible model: microbot. I need the nearest medic to report your position.::_

A few nanokliks passed as he relayed his exact position. _::Ratchet here. I'm currently five sectors from your point. You say a microbot?::_

There was a blip of confirmation. _::He's not a cyberture, and certainly too small to be anything else. Maybe a hister tall. Though I cannot quite get a proper visual on him. He's running.::_

 _::Incredible... Keep on him until I get there. If he is a microbot, he will need a lot of help. How soon do you need me?::_

 _::From what I can see, he does not seem all that injured. But as quickly as you can regardless. Let me know when you are two teks out.::_

 _::Confirmed. Ratchet out.::_

For several teks, Optimus followed the microbot quietly with three reasons why he did not make his presence known. One: the bot was frantic about something. He would go up to a pile, search through it as fast and as quiet as he could, come back out with nothing but a frustrated warble and dash to the next pile, each time his acts becoming more desperate as he cried in angrier or hollowed tones. Two: his scavenging clearly stated he wasn't doing it for just himself, but for a group or one other bot, for he had seen him carry just one small canister and dump whatever he found into it, never taking any for himself. And three, it was idiotic to call out to or sneak up on a potential bot in need. Noise will get him killed out here if he's heard.

And finally, he noticed that with each glimpse he managed to catch, this was no ordinary microbot. Microbot's, not to be mistaken for minibots or minicons* who were both smaller than the average Cybertronian, were models built with slender to thick hides depending on their field of work. However, this one had no bulk to speak of. He had no protective plating, not even makeshift ones, no weapons, no tactical surveys, no anything. He was going outside with no safeguard or precaution of any kind whatsoever.

He bent down behind a large heap and opened a channel. _::Ratchet. You might want to step on it.::_ Pulling up the map, he saw one of the red dots moving towards him from the southwest, four sectors out.

 _::Have you made contact?::_

 _::No. This is no ordinary mech. I'm tailing him to see where exactly he is going. He's scavenging, but not for himself. Possibility of there being another or more, injured, is very high. I won't know until I see him.::_

 _::How unordinary are we talking?::_

 _::No armor, no weapons. Casings are showing and no displays of proper safety measures are taken visually or otherwise.::_

 _::I'll do all I can.::_

He shut the link and map as he peaked over the side of the pile, watching as, yet again, the microbot came from out of a mound, but instead of a string of curses, it rejoiced in finally finding something of use. Something square, banged up, clear and filled halfway with dark purple liquid. Low grade energon. Optimus stood up to follow him once more as he dashed off and, in the process, unintentionally nudged a piece of rock into a metal panel, making a sudden ringing noise that had the bot freeze mid step.

The Prime also froze and stepped back behind the pile in a crouch just fast enough to evade the bot's searching gaze. He could hear him give the smallest of clicks, barely high enough to register in his audios, before hearing the tell tale 'thumps' of his pedes taking off.

Watching on radar the green blip move further away, Optimus waited just long enough to gain a distance from him before quickly following. He made it several teks forward before the blip completely vanished. With a curse, Optimus came to a stop, instinctively replacing his left hand with his energon blade, double checking his surroundings, straining his audios to listen for misplaced sounds, and strengthening the signal of his radar. He quickly realized his signal was being jammed on a great scale. He couldn't even see Ratchet anymore.

 _::Ratchet, radars are being jammed in my immediate area. Enemy presence or responsibility is unknown. Are you close enough to guide me in?::_ He sent him his radar settings.

 _::I got you, Prime.::_ Astroseconds went by. _::I'm thirteen cerses out. You have no enemies in your area but you are very close to our borders.::_

 _::The border is within the city?::_

 _::It was checked not but three quartex ago,::_ a pause. _::Says it was cleared.::_

 _::Then something moved in.::_

 _::The microbot you are searching for is three degrees northeast about a vun or two out.::_

 _::Hail me again if I veer off.::_

He never did. Optimus was on a mission and set dead on finding this survivor. He was not letting this one get away, or the possible others he was providing for. A simple direction and estimate length of travel was all he needed as his range-distance meter led the way into the deserted suburb nearest the Youth Sector, where he stopped, horrified, in his tracks.

 _::His signal is gone Optimus.::_ Ratchet announced surprised, oblivious of the Prime's sudden stop. _::I have him at ninety-two degrees north, and seventeen degrees west. He's close. Keep following your path.::_

His attention was caught immediately, alarms about the area ringing in his head as several memories popped up regarding now familiar, destroyed territory. _::Any Decepticons?::_ he trekked forward cautiously, the hum of his energon blade a reassurance on his arm as his senses heightened ten fold.

: _:None.::_

He hummed, his pace forcibly steady. This was too easy. Why jam radars if never to ambush by now? Or set a trap? Maybe to catch him off guard? As if.

Left and right, empty buildings of stores, businesses and homes screamed at him in silence, their charred walls having been blasted or melted away from fires or battle. At one point he passed an aura soak*, the land and play areas nothing but burnt junk with sizzled out fires. A memory of him and a family talking flashed through his processor and he picked up the pace. Homes were destroyed, stores were demolished, many holes - both bullet and cybertronian size - littered everything his optics landed on. And, of course, the massive body count of old empty carcasses lying within sight. He must have passed the border now as the bodies weren't cleared. It churned his core.

This place was not supposed to be this way.

Several breems into the slow but determined walk finally brought him to a small, homey looking library - or, at least, that _was_ the impression. The automated doors have been broken through, the crystal glass littering the floor in shards, the windows of the two story place suffered much in the same. The outer wall on the left was nearly destroyed, showing the innards of what was once an office.

In an instant, without a thought or care, he dashed inside with his blade ready, for this building raised warning flags. It was known for it's gentle hospitality, warm atmosphere, high energy, and favorable customs to all. But also for its secrets the owners held onto with welded lips, unless in the presence of himself and one other.

He knew exactly what this place was and what it hid from the public eye.

Immediately upon entry, his exterior lights blinked on from his shoulders and chassis at the dark area. The first thing he saw were thousands of databooks littering the floor - most broken - furniture having been toppled over or wrecked, walls broken through or torn down, and hanging crystal lights shattered on the floor with the rest of the destruction. In a corner farthest from him on his right, he saw a broken body of what was either a civilian or otherwise, energon long having lost its blue glow on the wall and floor, with his chassis broken into, his spark no longer in its casing. He turned away and switched the lights off, instead using his night vision to guide his way through the building. He grew numb to the sight of dead bodies, having to see so many each cycle whether from reports, patrol graphs, or his own sentry duty.

As he ventured deeper inside, the eerier it got for him to be there. Each isle he walked by, the datacases and bookshelves were either toppled over or swiped clean, books and datapads littering the floor in heaps, as if someone was searching for something. Five times he came upon dead bodies, one of them being a fellow Autobot, another a Decepticon, and the other three library wards. No doubt he tried to get them out but ran into trouble. Optimus gave him a small prayer to Primus.

He came upon what used to be the stairwell to the second floor. The structure had collapsed, most likely from a blast of some sort, with a giant hole in the ceiling to where it led. The second story contained the study hall for students of the Academy, holding many books found in the Academy's own library, and much more. Sparkling's were not allowed up there, it being a strict environment to older cybertronians only. There was no other way up, this he knew, unless you dared scaling the walls.

However, despite the destruction, the messes, and lack of many missing books or pads, he went straight for the children's section with quiet, quick steps, a single thought clouding his mind as soon as he saw the building.

No one should be in here to take it as refuge.

Many vorns ago, when he was still adjusting to being pronounced Prime of Cybertron, his mentor introduced to him many secrets that his predecessor did not know. Secrets that should never be revealed even in dire situations to the planet. One of those many secrets, although more recent, involved this library. It was built for a reason, and structured purposefully in a way so there wouldn't be a place to take refuge in it. It was made to be inconspicuous, to make it look unworthy of someplace to hide.

Unless you were directly associated with keeping its secret, and closely affiliated with the Prime, that microbot was not to be here.

Optimus stepped into the area, and stopped as his optics took in the view. Nothing in the place was even close to being more rummaged through, wrecked, or turned over than the children's area. Everything was in shambles. The furniture, the books, the datapads, the shelves, the walls, the wallgraphs. Everything. Not a thing left untouched. Except the empty walkway down the middle towards the back wall. With a curse, he headed towards it, stepping over the piles of unusable items and fallen cases.

The wall once held four datacases, two on each side of the now blank wall which had a pre-working wallgraph that advertised the joy of reading. His spark dropped upon seeing their condition, whatever was in them having fallen to the ground and mixed up with the piles. He crouched down near the closest stack, retracting his blade, and turning on a single light from his shoulder to sift through the mess in a near frantic search. He didn't get through more than ten datapads before a soft clunking could be heard behind him.

Turning to stand, he watched with narrowed optics as the untouched floor he was just on began to split open and slowly lower, panels falling into place below the doors to make a set of white stairs leading downwards beneath the entire library. But instead of going down, he saw the microbot coming up with a bit of difficulty on each step until he reached the top with the very datapad of fabled war stories he'd been searching for.

He nearly jumped the poor bot in a bout of anger and nervousness. Almost took out his blade again and demand to know how the bot knew of the hidden passage. How to open it and how much he had seen. How long he had been holing up in it and who else was there. But as soon as his optics caught the attention of him, blue on blue, he had to lock his knees.

"You are not a microbot." It was barely heard from his vocals, but the deep baritone in the silence caught the smaller mech by surprise with a startled chirp and he took a step back in fright. Optimus wanted to reach out, but he barely moved his hand up before the bot took a quicker step back, forgetting about the drop below him, and missed the floor. He fell backwards with a screech and tumbled down the steps into the room below.

Optimus rushed forward, grabbing the datapad the mech had dropped - subspacing it - and quickly made for the stairs in a panic. He heard and saw the landing the mech made with a squeal of pain, his air valves stalling at the impact, impairing him from getting up and away from the approaching leader. He managed, however, to get up and limp away as soon as Optimus reached the bottom.

He had forgotten how pristine this place was on his one visit decivorns ago. Even during the war, and the obliteration of the town above, the place was as it had been, which caused him to pause when the lights flickered on at his large presence, a familiar voice greeting him from the loud speaker that he was impressed still functioned as soon as the wall behind him closed.

 _"Admission: Granted. Welcome, Planet Hierarch Optimus Prime and guest."_

The walls were a smoky gray, accentuating the silver terminals pushed against them in the very large circular room. The black, empty monitors sat connected to them above white keyboards. But it was nothing compared to the stark white, circular console situated in the middle of the room, a single rail system above it that held two specially graphed white chairs that allowed them to rotate around it without touching the white floor. And instead of large monitors to look into, there was nothing but empty space, round indentions on both top and bottom terminals that would allow an interactive holographic globe to take residence.

A small bang filled the silent room, startling him enough to remember his purpose there. There were five adjourning rooms connected to the main one, one of which he knew were private quarters, one a recreation room, the third a mini library, another a lab and the last a medical bay, the last two just as big around as the main one.

He peeked inside the medical bay. Held in the far right corner was a cylinder tank of green liquid, empty and still, with a monitor by its side. Several metal cubes he immediately knew as temporary spark chambers, were lined neatly on the wall, wires still connected to them. Five berths lined the left wall, all but one with dark monitors at their sides, and counters all up on the right with cabinets and wall mounts above them. Everything from the lower drawers and cupboards were sifted through, littering the floor as most were discarded and unused. He suddenly found a medical instrument being thrown at his head. He dodged out of the way last astrosecond on reflex.

The small mech - height guessed nearly correctly, he was half a hister taller - spoke in hurried, frightened warbles, holding an armful of random things to throw as he stood atop the fourth berth, favoring his right leg and staring at him in bewilderment and fear. Optimus' optics immediately landed on the other figure he was guarding... and went wide-eyed.

 _Not microbots_! He could have laughed if not for the dire situation before him. Hope and terror overwhelmed his body in an instant on both of their conditions. Now that the former was in proper light, Optimus could now see that he was malnourished and beyond a need for an upgrade. The latter sported no better, but worse, and this is what made the leader go forward with caution, his hands up. This was in vain as the one guarding the berth threw his armload at him the closer he got, the equipment bouncing off his armor harmlessly but making him flinch regardless.

"Easy, little one," Optimus soothed, his voice a bit resounding in the silence. "Easy. I am not here to hurt you." Another step forward and the mech stopped his assault. "I am here to help. I'm a friend."

He was soon standing two histers from the table, hands still up. He reached out slowly with his left hand, palm up, and waited with all his patience for the other to react against the peaceful resonance he relayed to him from his Matrix. At first he was given a glare from the trembling figure, then uncertainty. The message was clear. _'I will not harm you. You are found and you are safe.'_ He didn't have to wait long after that. The identified sparkling before him, having been staring at him warily and confusedly the entire time, broke into sobs mere kliks after, dropping what left he had in his arms and all but flung himself at Optimus with a frightful, relieved, longing cry, clutching tightly to his chassis.

A very low and drawn out keen from the berth drew his attention to the sparkling lying on it.

It had to have been a miracle. Luck, coincidence, fate, or the doing of Primus himself. He did not know and he did not bother to care at the moment, for before him on the berth, reacting weakly to the Matrix's pull, one optic barely a blue flicker while the other sat dark and attached clumsily to a monitor quietly relaying her life signs, was the first femme seeklet he had brought into this world in eons. So small and fragile, as if she'd break by his mere touch. She sported more injuries than a normal sparkling could handle.

She was battered and much too big for the current metal skin she wore, just as the mech was. Bright blue energon trickled lightly down her right side over a main line, and puddled beneath her where a previous one had been as it began to lose its glow, indicating that it hasn't been flowing for long but it has been opened many times before. Many dents and scratches adorned her body, and he felt searing anger when he spotted missing pieces of metal from her wing nubs, chipped or broken off by something that must have hit her. The monitor showing her vitals indicated a sporadic spark pulse, her energy levels fully depleted and energon levels just below average. Her entire system sounded unhealthy and worn, working hard to keep her alive.

Several emotions clouded his every sensor as he touched her arm. From grief to extreme delight, to pained sorrow. Not just upon finding sparklings, _live_ sparklings, but one single child who he had once known. He had personally brought their sparks into the casings they held, for they immediately synced with his much older one. He had known her creators, visited her home, became their friends, served with them... and to see either like this, the femme over two hundred decivorns later, tore him apart. He now knew why his radar was jammed, a defense that she threw up when this placed scanned her as physically impaired.

Someone had gotten a hold of her.

"By Primus. What happened to you, sweetspark?" A choked sound was all he garnered. He saw the spoils the mech brought in from outside and he debated. No one was allowed in this secret lab but himself and those with authorization from the creators. Ratchet was on his way - no doubt already past the point of the radar jam - to these coordinates. If he were to come inside...

He knew better than to allow someone else in. The consequences were quite literally lethal. With careful hands, he reached for the cord attached to the base of her neckline, but was startled away at the mech's cry from his arms.

Optimus looked down to see the sparkling staring wide-eyed up at him and then to his friend, tugging on his chassis for him to stop with whirrs and clicks of desperate worry and wonder. How young he was, yet older than the other to take on a protective quality.

"It's fine." He told him gently. "I'm going to get her some help, but we cannot stay here." He reached for the cord again and was reluctantly allowed to continue. It came off with a slight hiss and the monitor went blank. He urged the conscious sparkling to briefly let him go to situate the femme comfortably as he picked her up, careful not to disturb the leaking tube of energon or her damaged wings. She was out cold. Once he had a firm, gentle hold, he picked the mech back up and headed out of the lab with quick steps.

He hailed the stairs and ascended them without difficulty, the lights behind him dimming to darkness at his command. At the top, the steps moved upward to press against the floor he now stood on as the doors closed. He kicked a few piles of datapads over the empty space. No evidence of there ever being a hidden passage could be found.

The jam was gone the moment he stepped out the broken doors. Exiting the building, he shushed the nervous warbling sparkling, looking in all directions in all senses for any changes that might have been made while he was inside. None were found and so he continued down the way he had come from. He made it to the outskirts of the neighborhoods before he saw Ratchet heading his way. He had to calm the squirming mech as the medic transformed and approached them.

"Optimus!" Ratchet looked around the area, weary of the silence and sudden uplift in the radar jam. He had a saw blade out. "Did you find him?" But he stopped dead when he glanced down to see what his leader held, locking his gaze to a pair of small blue optics staring terrified at him and the unmoving form curled to his chest.

"Yes," Optimus said. "I found them."

* * *

 _ **xX-Xx**_

* * *

 _ **Author's Note**_

 _*Cyberture - A Cybertronian winged, bipedal, or quadruped creature or animal. I made this word up myself. Feel free to use it 'cause I thought it was awesome! Since, you know, Cybertronian's can't really call the animals, animals. That's a human word._

 _*Minibot/Minicons, and Microbots are all a different model type. Microbots are the smallest of the Cybertronians, standing no taller than a few inches to five human feet. A good example would be the cassetticons. Minibots/Minicons stand between seven to fifteen human feet such as Jazz in the movie, or Cliffjumper in G1._

 _*An aura soak is a walled-off square or octagon of open ground, sometimes with seating but otherwise bare, where Cybertronians gather to bask in their collected auras to hold one another in silence and share feelings of oneness and closeness. They were constructed in the reserved quarters of xenopublic cities and were always barred to xenorganics. Aura soaks were popular in the Polar Torus during the early and middle Golden Age, but fell out of use later on after being made particular targets by monobinder activists. Roughly equivalent to a park or public bath on Earth, also called intimacy parks or aura bath._

 _ **Cybertronian History 101**_

 _Before the dawn of time, Order and Chaos existed within an extra-dimensional entity known as The One. To explore the fledgling universe, it created the astral being known as Unicron, and then subdivided him, creating his twin, Primus. Both brothers were multiversal singularities, unique in all realities, but whereas Unicron could only exist in one dimension at a time, moving between them at will, Primus existed simultaneously in all realities at once. It is suggested, in fact, that the two brothers embody the basic concepts of reality—good and evil, order and chaos—and that their continued existence is necessary for the stability of the multiverse. As Unicron and Primus went about their appointed task, venturing through the cosmos, it became apparent to Primus that Unicron was a corrupt being, and he took it upon himself to stop the threat posed to all of existence by his sibling. In combat, Primus was no match for Unicron. In cunning, however, he proved himself to be his brother's superior when he shifted their battle to the astral plane, and then back to the physical world once more, only to have both their essences manifest within metallic planetoids, leaving them both trapped. It was with this act of sacrifice that Primus hoped to contain Unicron's evil forever. Unfortunately for him, over time, Unicron learned to psionically shape his prison into a giant metallic planet, and Primus followed suit, becoming the mechanical world of Cybertron._

 _ **Review Please :D I will adore you forevers!**_


	3. Distraught

**Title:  
** Our Debt

 **Chapter:  
** Distraught

 **Pairing:  
** Starscream x OC

 **Story Summary:  
** Razorwing was a sparkling when her life took a disastrous turn. She didn't know what was wrong with her. All she knew was that ever since the war broke out, she has seen these strange numbers over everyone's helms. Thinking nothing of it, she ignores it for the sake of her Creators sudden worriment. Until, one day, they don't come home and she is captured by the enemy faction. It is there she is tortured and interrogated for what she is able to see. Not knowing why or how caused her harm, but when she figures out the purpose behind the numbers she wants it gone. For the faster they drop, the quicker the numbered bot drops dead.

* * *

 **Notes:  
** Cybertronians count their age in vorns and years in decivorns. This " _::_::_ " symbolizes communication link conversations. And these are for your reference. These are approximate numbers:

 **Astrosecond** – .498 earth seconds - _Cybertronian Second  
_ **Nanoklik** – 1 earth seconds  
 **Klik** – 1 earth minutes  
 **Breem** – 8.3 earth minutes (8 min, 20 secs) - _Cybertronian Minute  
_ **Groon** – 1 earth hour  
 **Orn** – 1 earth day - _Cybertronian Hour  
_ **Joor** – 93 earth hours (3 days, 21 hours)  
 **Cycle** – 1 earth week - _Cybertronian Day  
_ **Quartex** – 1.4 earth months (1 month, 1 weeks) - _Cybertronian Week  
_ **Diun** – 5.6 earth months (5 months, 2 weeks) - _Cybertronian Month  
_ **Quintun** – 1 earth year  
 **Decivorn** – 8.3 earth years (8 years, 4 months) - _Cybertronian Year  
_ **Vorn** – 83 years  
 **Decavorn** – 830 years

 **Rintek** – Cybertronian Millimeter  
 **Duntek** – 10 rinteks – Cybertronian Centimeter  
 **Espe** – 2.5 dunteks – Cybertronian Inch  
 **Hister** – 12 espes – Cybertronian Foot  
 **Arn** – 3 histers – Cybertronian Yard  
 **Tek** – 1.1 arns – 1 Cybertronian Meter  
 **Vun** – 100 teks – 1 Cybertronian Hectometer  
 **Hic** – 10 vuns – 1 Cybertronian Kilometer  
 **Cerse** – 1609 teks/1760 arns/1.6 hics – 1 Cybertronian Mile

 **Autobots** \- Red (Territory - Blue)  
 **Decepticons** \- Purple (Territory - Red)  
 **Neutrals** \- White (Territory - Unknown)  
 **Unknowns** \- Green (Territory - Unknown)

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:  
**_ _ **Everything I own belongs to me. Everything I don't own belongs to Hasbro and their respected owners.**_

* * *

 _ **xX-Xx**_

* * *

Ratchet, being the field medic that he was, had assessed the sparklings conditions with a swift scan, his shock and panic quick, unhidden emotions that flashed across the planes of his face with what the information held. He retracted his weapon immediately and stepped forward.

The small mechling was beyond frightened when he was brought out of the safe haven he was found in, and even more so when he saw the other looming mech. Needless to say, he was a hard one to settle down before they were placed gently inside both bots and rode back to the domed city of Iacon.

Prime, after leaving a tracer guard behind, had sent a heavily encrypted mass message once they set out to inform the current patrolling units that he and Ratchet had left their posts. Ratchet had been with two others, who had quickly called in to ask if things were okay. Optimus filled everyone in with the vaguest of details, only stating that they had found survivors and asked the nearest parties to keep alert in his empty area that he marked orange until the next alteration. Surprise and shock were the natural reactions he obtained through several communications and he calmly dismissed them all back to their duties without room for arguments.

By the time they reached the extendable bridge, stretching over a vast and deep set canyon that circled the entire city - their identifying signals and speed giving off an urgent need for it to be activated immediately - the femme within Ratchet started keening weakly in her stasis as her leak grew worse from the movement, and Optimus was finally feeling the pull of starvation on his body as the mech within him started squirming.

The bridge deactivated behind them, the enormously large doors closing shut on their tail ends as they zoomed into the large city where Ratchet activated his lights and sirens, racing to the medical facility through the expansive streets. Civilians and Autobot soldiers alike moved aside fairly quickly, turning their heads in curiosity and urgency as both went by. Their appearance wasn't a common sight, survivors hard to come by, so when they see a medic and their escort zooming down the paveway, many follow behind to see if perhaps that survivor is a loved or lost one. Those that didn't follow stayed put with a sense of fear or dread.

The medical center - commonly known as The Iaconian Medical and Research Center, which also doubled as a science laboratory - was the largest treatment structure in the northwestern hemisphere of Cybertron, which unfortunately held very little of the best medics around. Before the war, it was a place where barely any medibot or trainee was permanently stationed, bots moving about to Youth Sectors and city clinics to oversee the health and treatment of civilians. Nowadays, medibots were few and widespread, most having died from the destruction of the sectors to prevent future heirs or Autobots from growing, and so engineers and scientists were contracted to pull a double duty in learning the basics of mech care. The IMRC then tripled to a learning facility.

Needless to say, the place was very well occupied with learning mechs, patients, and staff, meaning their entrance was not going to be easy or unnoticed.

 _::I need two of my best medics and Wheeljack down in Bay-Four immediately!::_ Ratchet hailed to his personal staff. _::This is a Code C-01 Priority! Repeat: Code C-01 Priority!::_ The chatter that immediately followed was garbled due to so many talking at once, but the doubt, surprise, fear, and urgency in the tones was not lost as the command was respectively no time at all, Optimus and Ratchet were parking in front of the hanger door of Bay-Four, the entrance for high priority patients in need of a quick placement and treatment without seeing eyes.

The Autobots Wheeljack, Hoist, and First Aid met them there with two hover berths and expectant expressions of alarm.

"Aid! I need you to take the femme! Hoist, take the mech!" Ratchet opened his back doors as First Aid stepped forward, his shock visible. He did not let this stop him however, and so gently pulled the unconscious sparkling from his superior's cabin and placed her on the berth, immediately strapping her to a fluid line he had set up with ease upon hearing her keen. Hoist, with the same reaction as the other, came and took the little mech from Optimus' arms, the leader having transformed beforehand, and placed his frantic warbling form on the other berth. Wheeljack was quick to steady his Prime at seeing him wobble some.

"I want them both in the emergency room _now_!" Ratchet ordered, having transformed and followed the two disciples. "Do _not_ let them be seen under _any_ circumstance!" He turned to Wheeljack. "And make sure _he_ is seen to a room as well." He ran off with a scolding look to his leader. No doubts in having seen him unsteady. Or from the scan he performed on the sparklings earlier and he got caught in the cross.

The science engineer stared with wide optics after the retreating mechs until they disappeared behind a door. "Optimus..." he was at a loss for words. "How? ...We thought they all had perished..." he had barely whispered this.

Optimus only managed to shake his head solemnly, grateful for the mech's support as he began to follow after the wailing mech. "We were gratefully wrong. I found them within an unstable home. It collapsed as soon as I got them out." It pained him to lie to someone he trusted enough to put his life in his hands, but he would not mention the truth of their discovery, much less where. At least, not yet.

As soon as they passed through Bay-Four's doors, quiet noise immediately entered his audios, the muffled droning of many mechs echoing off the walls from every direction. He suspected that teachings were underway, researchers more than likely finding something to toy with. Thankfully, due to the C-01 code, talk of their newest recipients was restricted to the confines of those in direct contact with Ratchet. Word of their arrival will not be known until he made it so. They have gone by unnoticed so far.

No longer needing his support - kindly straying away from the hold - he ignored the noise and unsteadiness of his systems and allowed the smaller engineer to lead him down corridors and passageways with urgency, passing many other hallways that led to occupied rooms, lobbies, or laboratories. After several turns, up two floors and down another hall, Wheeljack and Optimus had caught up with the three mechs just as they burst into a room and locked it behind them.

Inside, the femme was transferred from one berth to another, First Aid immediately going for her spark chamber, opening it up (cursing heavily at what he saw) and strapping necessary lines to her insides, setting up a transfusion to feed her starved body. But as soon as she was plugged into a monitor, it started blaring with all sorts of warnings. Ratchet swore up a storm as he moved through the room, gathering the equipment he needed. Hoist, meanwhile, had set the mechling on a berth farthest from the commotion, but had little luck in controlling his wildly flying limbs as he tried to get away from him. No hushing sounds or soothing clicks could temper with the sparkling as he cried in fright at both his predicament and his heavily damaged friend. Eventually, Hoist managed to safely sedate the mechling, and by being so small, the sedative was quick to react. A breem later and the sparkling was deep in a recharging cycle. The room now devoid of one problem, the three mechs began their work. Outside through the viewing glass, Optimus could only watch in weary silence as they were now out of his hands.

Questions he had mulled over before resurfaced, the most important being how had they survived through nearly - to his calculations on his last visitation to the femme - eight decivorns of war? If no one truly touched her that is. Where had they been hiding the entire time? Certainly not in the lab below the library, at least not without _someone_ knowing about it, right? He'd have to go back there on his own time and see the activation records, because he knew that only the owners to that library and himself had those activation codes and the last time he had seen them... was before they were captured and killed...

The Decepticons...

When he caught his optic, Ratchet gave a stern look towards the scientist to heed his earlier command. Wheeljack nodded and stepped up to Prime, noting his lack of emotion, and put a hand on his forearm. He didn't move. "Optimus, I need you to come with me." The fins on the side of his helm flashed bright blue as they synchronized with his worried tone. "I don't want you going into stasis on me."

It was a few moments later, when the stress and worry of loss, excitement and relief at finding sparklings, back to stress, worry, and dread on everything that went through his processor finally showed itself on his leader's overall body language before his now flickering optics finally went black as his body began to shut down.

Optimus dropped.

* * *

 _ **xX-Xx**_

* * *

The first thing that came online was his auditory receptors. He took in the sounds of gentle beeping and humming from the machinery around him. His vision, at first nothing but black, suddenly brightened with dozens of previous warnings and coding updates before vanishing once he'd verified them. Immediate worry washed over his processor as soon as his head was clear enough to form a thought. His fingers twitched, followed by his arms, torso and so forth, feeling the lack of sluggishness in the well-oiled gears, not a single ounce of soreness anywhere on his body. His vision finally cleared up just as the doors slid open and only one thought came up through his vocals.

"At least I avoided falling on him."

"You did, actually. On one of his pedes," the doors closed as Ratchet came in, his blue optics chiding Optimus for smiling as he crossed the room to the monitors, picking up a datapad and signing something off. "The Council is not happy with you, Prime. They are cursing to Primus himself with the workload that was put upon them by your lack of self-care."

"They can handle it." Was Optimus' immediate reply, sitting up and taking in the feel of rejuvenation from a full tank of energon and reservoir of energy, purposefully stretching his limbs and flexing his armor plates. "How long have I been out?"

"Two cycles, nineteen orns, thirty-seven breems, and ten astroseconds." His optics glared at the leader before promptly smacking him upside the helm, earning the medic a satisfying – to him, at least – hiss of surprise. "You have neglected to care for yourself in nearly a quartex! Five cycles, Optimus! Five! That's lunar and solar. You realize how much damage you put on your body if you do that continuously? This is the fourth time you have done it in the last seven decivorns!" The larger bot took on a weighted look, not at all bothering to hide it in front of the medic. "Do it again and I _will_ keep you sedated until necessary."

"Threat noted," Optimus twisted on the berth so that his pedes touched the floor. He did a subspace check of everything he held in possession, knowing that Ratchet emptied them when he works. That fleck of worry disappeared as soon as he saw his inventory was replaced as it was, but he was sure Ratchet found it odd to see a book in there. Sentimentality, however, was not a strange habit these days, so it was easily looked over. "Though I can assure you, I am slowly stepping away from that routine."

"Pathetically slow, if you ask me."

"How long before they know I am online?" _They_ being the Council.

"So long as you keep away from Prowl."

"Than within the orn." His optics brightened as he stepped off the berth in teasing.

Ratchet scoffed. "If even that. He went out on a sentry mission yesterday to your unfinished territory. He'll be back within the next cycle or two."

The leader nodded, silent a moment, not sure how to bring up the major subject at hand that never left his thoughts. He decided to be blunt. "Where are the sparklings?"

With his back turned, Ratchet answered without missing a beat, albeit gruffly. "In recovery."

"And their conditions?"

Here he paused. With a hiss from pressurizing gears, the CMO turned to lean back against the counter, a thoughtful and worrying gaze directed towards the floor. "Good... and bad. The mech is doing very well, surprisingly. He was malnourished with a very dated frame and a fractured leg strut, most likely from a recent fall." He saw Optimus flinch and gave him a curious look.

Optimus explained quickly. "He fell down some stairs upon seeing me in the structure I found him in. He landed awkwardly."

Ratchet nodded understandingly and continued, accessing his holo projector to bring up a three-dimensional image of the mechling, parts flashing different colors as he explained. "He was kept under as we did repairs. Wheeljack took the liberty in getting the mech a new framework, which helped us a lot in determining his maturity. He is no sparkling, Optimus, or small for that matter anymore. He is roughly thirteen vorns old. Barely into his youngling stages. His vocoder was shorted out, which explains his inability to talk, but that was also taken care of. Maybe now we can get some answers to the large sum of questions everyone wants when he too onlines..."

"How is your staff taking the news?"

"As rabid as a bunch of starving turbofox after glitchmice. They want answers, and they want to see them. I fear that even with my trusted team, word will eventually spread throughout Iacon, if not the very borders."

Optics narrowed. "I hope that this will not be the case. Their existence is to be withheld by all means necessary to prevent exposure to the Decepticons."

"I figured as much, as did Prowl. He took the initiative to inform Blaster and Jazz, and what actions are to be taken once they are recovered. They have already strengthened the disruption field from possible radio waves escaping. Everyone who knows has been sworn to secrecy until you deem otherwise. Prowl will inform you, in detail, the extent of his proclamations when he returns."

"Very well…" He could always depend on Prowl when he was out of commission in any way. Blaster and Jazz were trusted enough to know about his findings, they were his top communications analysts and in charge of the communications array that flowed in and out of their city. He knew that they would never entrust secrets outside of whom Optimus wanted, and this included the Council. He wasn't too keen on having them knowing what he had found. They may be old and wise, but they were also veterans of past wars, built for militia, not Guardianship, and to deal with sparklings in a scenario of war, no matter how much they planned for it in the off chance it did happen, their decisions wouldn't be too trusted on.

"What of the femme?" Optimus kept his tone leveled, having noticed his pause in his first inquiry, and as Ratchet prolonged his silence, his gaze returning to the floor, Optimus felt his spark pause. "Did she make it?"

Ratchet hummed. "The femme... She is in a bad spot, Optimus." The image of the mech disappeared, the femme reappearing in his place. It was a sad sight to bear witness to. "With the removal of her outer coverings, and the entry we got into her spark chamber, we determined her to be just over four vorns old, almost five, and the damage she sustained through however long a length is more than her body can handle, yet she survived it... but only just. Her frame was beyond repair, nothing but a dented and null carcass to haul around. Yet... traces of trithillium* steel make up her protoform and some kibble. As you know, the metal is very rare, and highly durable. Ironhide was suspected to hold all of that metal in existence, believe it or not. But I am not questioning something that managed to save some of her most delicate innards. We were able to seal the leaks off, but she is not retaining the energon like we hoped... her system keeps purging it." He narrowed his optics, and sneered in sudden frustration as he zoomed in on her chassis, showing a blinking red compartment where her spark settled. "Her spark casing is severely damaged and barely holding together. I have taken out anything that could rupture the spark itself. Her pulses are sporadic. Practically everything to keep it going has some kind of blunt trauma to it and I cannot fix it properly without the necessary resources for a sparkling." He paused for a long while. "She has lasted this long with our constant supervision Optimus, but with all the purging and damage... I am afraid that she will not make it through the next three, maybe four cycles. I do not even know how that youngling kept her alive."

The dread, the sorrow, and the powerful feeling of remorse swept through the Prime's entire being, leaving him wide-eyed at the news. The femme was dying and they didn't know why? "Can you not feed her directly through lines? Break down a casing to fit?"

Ratchet shook his head. "It is not that easy. I've tried the direct way and it's the same result every time, if worse. She's on a slow drip. As for the case, yes, I can do it, but the risk in fixing it now with all that trauma on her lines will only make her condition worse. If her systems do not start accepting energon by the third cycles first light, we are going to lose another to the Matrix."

Silence.

"What is worse..." Ratchet hesitated, pressing hard on denta plates. "What is worse is that she is a _seeklet_ , Prime!"

Optimus stared hard at the floor. "I know."

The medic continued, expanding the holo-image once more to turn the frame around to show the back where two little stubs, that couldn't even be called wings yet, sat downward. "I have fixed many seekers in my day, but never a seeklet this _young_. There was no _need_ for me to." He shut down the projector and practically slammed his datapad on the counter. "Seekers grow up around each other, constantly interacting, their essence not the same as ours. She needs a seekers ambiance, she needs to hear and thrive off their spark for the duration she stays a sparkling. It is their way. For even _if_ I manage to replace her spark chamber... without a seeker nearby, she _will_ lose her sanity," he shook his head once more. "And there is no telling how long she was without another in close range in the first place."

"And most of the seekers are with the Decepticons."

Ratchet didn't have to acknowledge this. It was a well known fact that while the Autobots had elite ground forces, the Decepticons had elite air forces. All but a few sided with the enemy as most seekers hated "ground-pounders" and followed the majority of their trines final decisions despite what they believed.

"Triplechangers don't work either," the older mech announced before it could be said. "Some may be fliers, but they are not seekers... Not fully anyway."

Prime ran a hand over his chest, a sign of nervousness and frustration. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to handle this, and that angered him. He always knew what to do, and even if he didn't, he could always rely on someone giving him some pointers or pushing him in the right direction by just a conversation alone.

"Could they at least lengthen her time here?"

"There's no guarantee."

He nodded. "Then find someone, triplechanger or no, who has the patience to sit with a sparkling. We will not lose her so long as there is a pulse to my spark."

Ratchet eyed Optimus critically and sympathetically. "I will find all I can." His optics suddenly dimmed, the notable look of an incoming communications link drawing his attention. Just as quickly, his optics brightened back up. The medic stepped away from the counter and gestured to his leader forlornly. "Come on. The mech is coming online. He will need to see you in order to know he's safe and to stay calm."

"Do you intend to tell him?" Then a thought hit him. One that he wasn't even sure of the answer. "Did he give any indication on who the femme possibly is?" Maybe he too can get some answers as to where the femme had been. He can quell the worries that her existence put back into play.

A pause. "None of us are sure if they are acquainted in any form aside from the fact you found them together, but we will know in time. Either way, I will not give him information so long as there is no reason to. But he is a youngling, Optimus. He will want answers. Curiosity is their nature."

The trek wasn't long. Optimus had been moved down a floor to recovery when he had passed out from exhaustion, and with a new vigor in his step, he was more than fervent to get back to the mech and femmling. After exiting the lift, he followed Ratchet down a few doors and into a quiet corridor. Optimus noted that no visitors or other patients were seen, not even some of the healers. He figured that this section of the floor was now heavily guarded from Ratchet's (and Prowl's or Jazz's) orders. They paused at the fourth door on the right and entered.

Beeping and droning sounds echoed quietly all over the decently sized room. A counter sat against the right side, stretching from one wall to the other, with two berths against the left side. He quickly noted the absence of the femme.

Wheeljack stood quietly by the mechs side, viewing a datapad in consideration, but looked up at the sound of their entrance. "Optimus!" he greeted. "Glad you're online! Gave me a scare on that fall. Had to get a few of us to put you on a portable. How you feeling?"

Optimus smiled gently at the ever talkative scientist and waved a hand in greeting. "Much better. Thank you. Sorry about the pede."

Wheeljack laughed. "Not something uncommon for me, Prime. I help around here too you know."

He smiled then nodded towards the mechling. "How is he?"

"He is nearly out of stasis," Wheeljack observed. "All signs are stable, system is fully operational, and we will have to test out his other functions once he is up. Upgrades have been installed, coding up to date. No problems whatsoever."

"Any changes with the femme?" Ratchet asked.

The scientist shook his head. "None from the last. Aid is keeping watch. Hoist has the next one."

"But you know her outcome." Optimus spoke up, his hand brushing the mechlings arm as he came to stand by his side and quickly noted how tall the youngling actually was. He was now a good three histers. Standing, he'd reach his knees.

"Of course I do," Wheeljack eyed his commanders' gesture. "But as Ratchet and I have agreed, nothing can be done about it with the extensive injuries on her other parts. We literally have to wait for her nanites to fix the damages."

"They should be working at full capacity." Everyone knew that nanites worked double the rate when damages are extreme.

"Key word there, Optimus. They _should_ be working, but they are not."

"We believe they were tampered with. It is not unknown that nanites can be coded to work against the healing process. The results are not in as of yet, so we are not one hundred percent sure."

The leaders' optics brightened in anger. "What about nanogenes? They must be more potent in the healing process. They should give the nanites a boost back to their default functions if what you say is true." Because right than, he knew. Somehow, someway, she was taken.

Ratchet shook his head. "Was already in deliberation. It would work most definitely, but we have none here. The only place to find them is where they were mass produced."

His shoulders fell. "Praxus."

"Unfortunately." Wheeljack nearly growled and leaned to one pede. "We do not have any other way to obtain them, or have the blueprints to create even one."

"The Decepticons wiped most of the place clear off the grid near the start of the war. The laboratories don't even exist anymore."

"And with the Decepticon High Command Aerie stationed there, going in is out of the question," Optimus let his optics dim in thought before settling with a hard yet hopeful stare. "What of Prowl?"

"What about Prowl?"

A whine interrupted what Optimus would have said, the mechling stirring from his stasis. The medic moved around the engineer to take down the fluctuations in his systems as they booted up.

A chirp came from the youngling as his optics lit up to a brilliant light blue. He blinked a few times and let out a whine in evidence of the slight pain he felt. His body automatically flexing gears and struts out of instinct in a stretch. "Where am I?" His voice came out light and white-noisy, whispered, almost as if foreign to using it. He suddenly bolted straight up and touched his neck. "I can talk again!" His voice fizzled and he coughed at the tickling feeling. Then he felt the protruding device connected to his main line and froze. "What is this?"

"Careful there youngling. We wouldn't want for you to pull that out on your own." Ratchet's rumble caught the small mech by surprise, his eyes wide as his gaze landed on the two bots to his left. And despite the familiarity of the medic from before, his mind didn't register him as he froze in terror. He was in an unfamiliar room, hooked to something he didn't know what, and saw first a mech he hardly recognizes.

He screeched.

The volume of his cry made the three mechs cringe. Immediately and simultaneously they lowered the echo intake to their audios, taking a step back on reflex. In a panic, the mechling scrambled backwards to get away, not noticing that he was on a berth. His hand slipped off the edge, followed closely by his other, making him lose balance and tumble over... right into the supporting hands of Optimus.

"Easy there youngling," he soothed the struggling mech. "Easy. We won't bring you harm." The leader safely set down the mechling, who's antennae shot straight up at the familiar baritone. He turned so suddenly, it was remarkable he didn't fall over, and stared. The Matrix pulled at his spark with warmth and safety. Ratchet and Wheeljack even gave a reflexive hum at the object that connected them to their deity when Optimus allowed its ambiance to flow out. The mechling warbled cautiously. Optimus smiled and held out a servo. "Hello, young one."

Captivated by both the pull and the bright benevolent blue optics, the youngling outstretched his own hand to touch the much larger finger, and was bombarded with a cacophony of emotions and memories. Some distorted and some clear. Some nice and others he turned a minds eye away from. Then suddenly they were all clear, and the most recent memories blinded him, unnerved him. The emotions sent him over. What felt like minutes was but a second or two and it didn't take long for the bot to give out a wail, launching himself at his Prime, decorum be slagged.

Optimus was quick to the action as he quickly accommodated and wrapped his arms around him, a content thrum resounding quietly through his frame.

"Where am I?" the repeated question was faint but heard when the mechling finally hushed some.

"Somewhere safe," Wheeljack replied softly, making his and Ratchet's presence known after the heartfelt necessity of a crying spark in need of soothing. He gave a small sheepish wave to the child as his gaze turned to him with a jerk.

"There is no one here that will hurt you," continued Ratchet, meeting his gaze with his own blue optics, mouth plates in a smile. "Not on our watch."

Weary optics watched the two, body huddled closely to the spark of a familiar in fear. He made to talk but paused and thought. He tried again. "But everyone hurts," came the hesitant reply, eliciting sorrowful composures.

"Not here," Optimus said. "Not us. What you faced before and may have seen was nothing but the brutal retributions of war. They have no tolerance for the innocent, not even as young as you."

"But why?" the emotions swelled. "Why must they hurt their own? Why not just talk like we always do? No one would get hurt! I wouldn't get hurt! I would still have my _family_!"

All three adults crooned. As a reaction, their resonance reached out to touch his, a delicate little thing that shuddered under their warmth that he hadn't felt in what seemed like forever.

"Unfortunately... it's not as simple as that." He looked over to Ratchet. "We've all had a loss in this war. Some were dragged into it; others were forced or killed." He stepped up to him and crouched to be eye level. "You are much too young to witness something as horrible as battle. It hurts, and it's gruesome. We did all we could to try and prevent it to keep ones like you away from what it's like..." Here he gave a small smile. "I know we can't remedy the pain to make it less so, but we sure will try to make it bearable. You aren't alone here."

He grew quiet, a thoughtful yet sad aura hovering around him. He was hurt emotionally and mentally. It would take time to process. For one so young, they didn't doubt it'd take much longer than themselves. It hurt to even see such a sight on one so young, one that was supposed to be lively and hard to keep up with but will still do so just to see a smile on their face.

Wheeljack did just that. "And on that note of keeping it bearable," he pulled a small viewing glass out of his subspace pocket and held it out for him to see. "Take a look at yourself!"

The youngling hadn't even noticed until just then that he felt a lot better than he had before. The reason for it was right there in his face that made him gasp. Without saying a word, Optimus put him down with a knowing smile. Every cybertonian loved to get fitted into something new, it meant a more stable body, a new style, an upgrade matching their maturity. When the youngling stepped closer to the glass, his optics shone with wonder, momentarily forgetting the other two.

The frame fit him snuggly, hiding his once exposed circuits, wires, and delicate innards. His movements had more free reign and felt fluid-like, the metal skin encasing his protoform with even grooves and smooth protrusions, much like his old one. The small, quirking horns that sat atop his helm were now better protected, guard cuffs now running along the sides of his face that melded to the helmet. Every single piece of new metal was colored a soft silver, not like his last one which was a soft blue. His nerve sensors were more efficient as they were actually aligned, if a little more sensitive, he was also taller, and much more on the lean side.

He looked up curiously. "You did this?"

The engineer grinned behind his faceplate that he had yet to retract, the action showing with the narrowing of his optics. "Sure did," he laughed, intriguing the youngling by the synchronizing lights from the head fins, having never seen such a thing before.

"I- Thank you, very much," the mech stepped back a bit, sheepish and just a tad weary. "I like it."

"Good, you just let me know if there is anything you want changed on it otherwise and I will see what I can do for you," he put the viewing glass on the counter behind him. "The name is Wheeljack, by the way. I helped weld you back up."

"Which is holding together quite nicely," Ratchet butted in, a datapad in his hand he had pulled out. Wheeljack stepped aside to allow the older mech to approach the youngling. "I am Ratchet, the one who has been monitoring your vitals and healing process. Surprisingly you were none too damaged when we found you. Besides the fractured leg strut which was an easy fix, you are as healthy as can be."

"And I am sorry to be the cause of that accident," Optimus had finally spoken, quickly grabbing the mechlings' attention. "I was not aware that you would be in such a place, and I should have taken more care upon my appearance to you." He smiled. "I'm Optimus Prime, in case you haven't solved that riddle yet."

"So I was right!" The three quieted in curiosity. The mechling warbled sheepishly, taking a moment to chose his words. "Sorry. You look different from when I saw you last... Vids from before... Anyway, it wasn't entirely your fault. We are in war. You are weary and I am- _was_ merely surviving... Protecting-" the mech paused, memories from before appearing in his minds' eye. He watched the events happen again and was suddenly in a panic. "The femme!" he shouted, looking everywhere around the room. When he didn't spot her, he nearly screeched. "Where is the femme?! Is she okay?! How long have we been here?!"

The adults refrained from looking at each other, knowing that if they did so, it'd tip the younger off to knowing something was wrong. The pause was barely noticeable as they found their words. "Calm down there, youngling," Wheeljack spoke. "She's gonna be okay."

There was a pregnant pause in which the mechling looked into their optics before he whispered with narrowed blues. "You lie."

"Now listen, little mech. She is under our constant watch and is taking her time to heal," Ratchet insisted. "She was much more damaged than you were."

"Than where is she?" The mechling probed. "If she is healing than I can see her, right?" Silence. "I want to see her!"

Optimus and Wheeljack looked to each other, the whiplash effect from being shy to demanding a bit amusing.

Ratchet, having dealt with temperamental or impatient mechs nearly every cycle, set down his datapad on the berth. "You can see her as soon as I finish evaluating _your_ condition." The youngling went to protest but was interrupted. "And in _exchange_ for your own patience, I will not hold you back from seeing her for however long you like." The scrunched expression on the young's face indicated that he didn't like the negotiation, but after some obvious thought put into it, he nodded begrudgingly. He didn't like to wait.

It didn't take long for the process to finish, questions being answered to the status to some of his basic functions, simple maneuverability assessments, and a coding check. Ratchet, once done, hummed in thought. "A lot of your coding has been thoroughly upgraded while in stasis. However, because of your age, new coding must be integrated as you are online."

"We will see to it that it gets done within the quartex," Wheeljack tapped at his own datapad. "I have to make sure everything is up to date. And hey! You can even choose your nanite color!"

The bot smiled. He loved colors. So much so that his Guardians had to take away the painting supplies or greatly limit them or else he'd use them up on portraits, walls, or even other bots. And although that adoration wouldn't soon fade, he had to steer clear of those thoughts, for the current situation took away the joy he should have felt. "Can I see her now?" The mech asked cautiously, armor plates fluffing out in worry.

"Patience, little one. We will hold to our promise," Optimus smiled kindly, poking the smaller mech with a digit to the helm. "But first, a simple designation will do us just. We gave ours and now it is your turn."

The little bot huffed, trilling and warbling in frustration despite the promise he made. None were surprised, he was a youngling after all, still learning patience and restraint. But nonetheless, he answered in a suddenly soft voice. "My creators titled me..." And upon mention of his creators came the sadness. His body slouched, optics dimmed, lowering to avoid the older mechs, and he let out a sorrowful chirp. "I am Bumblebee." His fists clenched, and before any of them could react, he snapped his head up with bright optics and stared at them all. "Please, let me see her now. I have to see if she is all right."

Determination, stubbornness, and a sense of responsibility radiated off the mechling in waves. Emotions Optimus was all too familiar with, as were any of the Autobots. But because he was a youngling, and he an adult, he had every right to deny him from seeing something so morbid, to prevent him from keeping his hopes up upon a full recovery of the femme. He would protect an innocent mind with everything that he was if he could help it. But in this time and age, however it might have seemed to them, innocence was a hard thing to come by. Death, battles, screaming, slaughter, vandalism. It all polluted the economy extremely fast, making bots stand up to face what was right, or deal what was wrong in a very short time span.

"How do you know this femme, Bumblebee?"

"I don't. I found her, so she is mine to take care of."

"And where did you find her?"

A pause as he thought. "A few cerses away from the suburbs you found us in."

"Where were you hiding?"

A longer pause. Optics narrowed, the mechling answered. "That's classified."

"Classified? You're a youngling! Nothing should be-"

"Let it be, Ratchet," Prime cut him off. "Let us not pry into something that we have no access to so soon," he glanced at Bumblebee knowingly, secretly. Ratchet merely harrumphed.

Optimus was relieved at his answer, and how the others didn't probe.

A quick glance to his ally's, seeing their equally involved thought processes, he knew his answer. The youngling, Bumblebee as he was now called, deserved to know what was happening, and no amount of protecting him from something directly in front of the eye would change his mindset, that much was certain. It was a now or never moment. The longer one held off the truth, the worse the outcome will be in the future.

With a groan of gears, and hiss of hydraulics as he moved in slight discomfort of where this may lead, Optimus nodded down at the bot. "We will take you to see her now. But I must warn you that you may not like the circumstances."

"I don't care. I want to see her."

"Sit down than, so that I can unhook the feed," Ratchet commanded, tone gruff. "Wheeljack, meet us there. Make sure there are no changes."

"Of course." And the scientist disappeared with no complaints, the door hissing shut behind him.

Bumblebee sat down hesitantly, legs curled in front of him as he twiddled with his hands. When Ratchet came over to tilt his head, he flinched back causing the medic to pause. A sorry warble and a reassuring touch from Optimus, Ratchet continued slowly. A slight discomforting pain jabbed at him when the needle was removed, but he made no sound to show this. A few quick scans to monitor how his body dealt with the change, all coming back positive, and he was let go. The silver bot stood all too quickly and turned to Optimus with determined optics.

"I want to be there, even if she is about to offline," his fists clenched, and anger broiling over that no youngling should know. "I cannot abandon anyone again."

* * *

 _ **xX-Xx**_

* * *

In another room down the wide hallway, a sparkling keened weakly through the comatose stasis she was put in. Memories flooded her processor, images burning themselves into her dark optics, and pain riddling her entire body.

This is what Wheeljack came into not for the first time. Sometimes she'd be silent and unmoving, how a normal patient would be when in stasis. The fact that she can make noise and move the tiniest bit worried him and set questions off. How was it possible for this tiny femme, no more than a hister in height, to overcome an induced stasis. Why weren't the nanites recovering the lesions on her most sensitive workings and gears? How had she even survived with this much damage done to her person? Why was a seeklet away from a seeker?!

It was irritating, confusing, and worrying.

First Aid was in the room sitting on a chair. Wheeljack greeted him with a nod, and noticed his twitching fingers and look of worry even with his back turned. Aid was a bot that was passionate about everyone's health. It unnerved him greatly if there was nothing to do to help someone recover and only watch on as they suffered in pain. The scientist had a similar mindset and so sent the mech on his way before he acquired more self guilt. The doors hadn't even closed shut before he was looking over the protoform that held together the broken lines. Armor was not an option, hindering any future progress to her health. A whine broke through her vocoder, and he set a digit on her arm, the other hand coming to tap a few commands on the monitor to make her more comfortable with suppressor injections. It was all he could do until they found a way to fix her.

He just hoped it was soon.

* * *

 _ **xX-Xx**_

* * *

 _ **Author's Note**_

 _Chapter two is finally done! :D I hope everyone likes it. I'm setting an entire new plate down with this, more structured and not so cliche as my other was. For all my previous readers that is familiar with my old chapters (if you're still there) I hope you like the changes. I sure do! Please review for me! I like everyone's feedback! Questions to be answered might help me write faster! OwO_

 _*Trithillium - A much stronger and more resilient Cybertronian alloy than any other known metal to their species and is a very rare element. Ironhide is the only known mech to have this metal fused with his protoform (I checked), but the sparkling is going to be explained sooner or later on how she obtained hers as well :D_

 _ **Cybertronian History 101**_

 _When Unicron then learned to transform his planetary form even further, into a gigantic robot form, Primus adapted the idea to suit his own ends—rather than transforming his own body, he would create small beings that would be able to change their shape, like Unicron. After performing a "test run" on the moon of Protos, where he successfully created a transforming robotic being, he birthed from his own body a group of thirteen sentient robots that possessed the ability to change shape. These were the thirteen original Cybertronians, each one infused with a fragment of Primus's life essence known as a spark. The Thirteen were Primus's soldiers in his war with Unicron, which came to its seeming end during a climactic battle in which one of the Thirteen, Megatronus Prime, who would forever afterwards be known as the Fallen, betrayed Primus and became an acolyte of Unicron. The battle ended when the Fallen and Unicron were sucked into a black hole and disappeared from reality. With Unicron gone for now, Primus entered an eons-long slumber, his self-imposed sleep preventing Unicron from detecting him through the mental link the brothers shared. The Transformer race grew, and Primus fell into the realm of legend, with a portion of his power, the Matrix of Leadership, handed down through the generations, serving as the Transformers' ever-present link to their creator._

 _ **Review Please :D I will adore you forevers!**_


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